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 Richard [recoiling.] The spy! All the Cavaliers. 'Tis Rochester! Rochester [to. Are you the hangman, pray?. You strangle me, my friend, as if I had Two souls to render up. In Heaven's name, Cannot you do more gently your devoir, Act with the victim more in good accord, And hang one without squeezing one so tight? Ormond [in dismay.]'Tis Rochester!

The rope is round my neck; But what—I see no gallows. Can it be They'd hang me, like a screech-owl, to a nail? Ormond.But where is Cromwell, then? Cromwell [stepping forward, in a voice of thunder. Cromwell is here! Forth from your tents, O Jacob! Israel, Forth from your tents!